


put away all the gods your father served today

by dame_de_la_chance



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Fallen Hero Timeline, Gen, Hylia and link have a heart to heart., Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), god. GOD...., hylia what the FUCK, link has really shitty luck., link is nine fucking years old why did they send him to fight Ganon, link to the past is referenced at the end, semi torture??, the violence isn’t SUPER graphic but it could make you pretty quesy, who thought that was a good idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 16:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dame_de_la_chance/pseuds/dame_de_la_chance
Summary: The Hero of Time was destined to die young, in the heat of the battle with Ganon, but not quick. No, the Goddesses were not that merciful. They let him die agonizingly slow.And then, they didn’t quite let him die, either. They say Hylia is a loving goddess, but She has cursed Her champion. Where is Her mercy when he needs Her the most?





	put away all the gods your father served today

**Author's Note:**

> fyi my loz knowledge is very very rusty

The Hero did not receive a quick death.

The Golden Goddesses, in all Their ethereal glory, did not grant him this small mercy. Despite all his hard work, freeing the six sages, slaying monsters created from Ganondorf’s dark magic, defeating undead creatures of rotting flesh, and restless spirits who wished him to be nothing but dead, he was not granted mercy. The chosen one of Farore, the Hero of Time...

Raised as a pig to be slaughtered.

The Goddesses sent him to Ganon, to that castle, forcing him to go through trial after trial. They forged him into something terrible, not a child nor a man. He had seen too much to be still a child, but he could not consider himself a man, not with his mind. They watched him suffer, They watched as the scars bloomed across his skin, physical and mental ones that would never heal even if he had been given the time to recover.

They sullied him with blood that was not his own, and for what? They turned him into a weapon, They let him get so close to winning, to fulfilling his destiny, just before They snatched it away from him. They let him travel to Ganon’s castle, They let him taste victory, a few scattered grains on his lips, before starving him of the fate he was destined for.

His job had been to fail; that was his true destiny. That was what Hylia Herself had written amongst the stars, had spun with Her strings of fate. 

They did not tell him that.

They allowed him to embark on his journey with optimism of a nine year old, with the hope of a hero, with the illusion that he would succeed. And They allowed him success after success; They allowed him to get so _far_. 

But They did not grant him the win that truly mattered.

He arrived at the castle, the Master Sword in hand, prepared to save Zelda, to save his tattered, ruined home, and all of its inhabitants, all of his friends. Prepared to engage in an epic battle. And prepared to win.

Ganondorf turned into the monstrous form of Ganon, unable to balance the might of Din’s power. A strong being, with twisted intentions and a thick lust for carnage and bloodshed. The Hero of Time desperately tries to stave him off, desperate to save his home, which had fallen to ruins after his seven years absence. Desperate to make up for his lost time, to fix his mistake.

He was not able to.

Hours of battle were left for naught. Ganon left him with a fatal blow, and he collapsed to the ground, drowning in a pool of his own blood. There was a gaping hole in his side, and his green tunic gifted to him by Saria was now tarnished with his own spilled blood.

He did not die that moment, however.

The Goddesses were not merciful.

No, he did not die. He was mortally wounded, and physically incabable of fighting, and he was not dead. He crawled for his sword, which had been knocked out of his hand when that fatal blow struck.

Ganon kicked him down. Still, he refused to give up, and clawed at the beast’s leg. He wanted to die with rebellion wisping his last breaths.

Ganon laughed at him. “The Goddesses are foolish, truly, or desperate, to send a little boy after me.”

He picks him up, his clawed fingers clutching his small throat. He wishes he could say that he was not afraid, that courage and defiance flowed through his veins, that he was every bit the hero legend wished him to be, but he was not. He shook like a leaf, and fell limp as he was lifted in the air. All fight left his body, and he was left a petrified, bloody tangle of limbs that would not move.

“You are no man,” he continues, mocking tones dripping from his tongue. “You are a child in a costume. You are a sad little boy who was given a task you could not hope to accomplish.”

His grip tightened. The Hero’s vision was fading, but Ganon’s eyes were etched into his brain. Molten lava, with a rage so intense he felt as if he was burning. Eyes of mockery, of jeer, of power.

Ganon looks away from him, and to the Princess and the people who had gathered to watch. By now, there was a small crowd of civilians who had survived the initial destruction of their home, watching, pleading that their saviour would in fact succeed. Praying that the legend of the Hero was no myth.

Ganon laughed.

“You worship the Goddesses even now? Those who sent this child to slay me?” He laughed louder. “And you call me sick! At least I don’t treat a child as a weapon! The Goddesses sent this child to die! And you still pray to them!”

Ganon’s gaze went back to him. He was trying desperately to hold back tears, because he was _scared_. He did not want to die. He was nine years old. He was going to die.

Ganon gave him a cruel smile. “But, I’m not one to go against the Godesses will. You were made to die, and I’ll fulfill the job I was meant to with...” His grip was tightening. The Hero’s damaged voice box was threatened with being crushed should the pressure become the slightest bit more intense. “... pleasure.”

He made true to his word, though the only one who had pleasure in his demise was Ganon.

His remaining minutes passed by as an almost blur, but he was unfortunately aware. Ganon paraded his near corpse about the city of Castle Town, jeering at the sobs of the civilians. He could recall with ease the sounds of people screaming his name, desperate for him to fight back, to save himself and them.

He could not.

He was dragged around, flung like a sack of flour. Ganon flaunted him in the eyes of the public, scratching his face with his beastly talons and stabbing him several times to keep him grounded. The pain did not fizzle out; it grew to searing extremes and kept him awake, kept him from slipping to the merciful darkness of the dead.

For the Hero of Time, time was not on his side. It slowed to an agonizing pace; minutes stretched into eons as he was dragged throughout the city. Blood trailed behind him, and he tried to gauge the time based of distance.

Though it had been a matter of hours, it felt like a lifetime.

Finally, Ganon granted him mercy after parading his withering body about. Every pair of eyes of adults and children alike had seen his body, had watched as Hope was snatched from under their nose. Every Hylian watched as their saviour was dragged through the mud before their very eyes.

Ganon was satisfied.

In the center of Castle Town, he stopped his parade. He shoved the child roughly towards a pillar, and with one of his own swords, pierced a blade deep into his stomach. The Hero screamed, dry and hoarse, and it didn’t sound like a scream, something mangled by a mistreated voice box. 

With more of his own swords, Ganon staked him to the pillar, hanging him like a piece of decor. Knives sliced his arms, his feet hung limply, blood spilling like a fountain, dripping to the ground in large splatterings.

The Hero of Time cried. 

He sobbed and he wheezed and he shook terribly. He had been mutilated by the man he was supposed to defeat, and a searing pain travelled through his entire body, every nerve flaring in agony, And Ganon laughed at him as he held up his hand.

“Do you see your saviour now?” He laughed and laughed, and that sound will follow him no matter where he goes. “Hylia! Do you see your champion now?”

The Hero could hear Zelda’s shrieks, could hear her desperatly calling his name. She was frantic, and if he cracked open his eyes, he could see her reaching out towards him, tears staining her cheeks.

Her screaming would follow him well into the afterlife.

Blood loss is what does him in. The agonising seconds that pass by makes the wounds bleed out from the horrifying position. It is slow. It is agonising.

Ganon peers into his eyes as he fades away. He’s in the cusp of drifting, death’s door cracked ever slightly. Mercy will be granted, but not soon enough.

“Well, little child...” Ganon laughed. “I hope you don’t have any last words?”

He wanted to spit at him. He could not talk, he could not sign, he could not verbalise his last act of defiance. He wanted to spit at him, to have the last laugh just before he would finally, finally be carried off by the Golden Goddesses.

Heroes didn’t die, they didn’t lose. Not in the countless stories he had listened to from Saria and the Great Deku Tree. And if they did die, then they perished gallantly, with honour. They died with a sword in their hand, with a sharp remark on their tongue, without fear. They were not afraid.

His mouth wouldn’t move. He was frozen in place, petrified by fear of this beast- not a man, not anymore. He was a statue of solid concrete, unable to do anything but stare the monster in the eyes as the lights began to fade.

Everything began to go slack. His head tilted foreword, forcing his eyes to see the pool of his own blood that surrounded him in all sides, like a raging circle of hellfire. In his dying breaths, he heard the sounds of Zelda’s fierce screams, Ganon’s laughter, and sobbing children.

“The Hero is dead! So much for prophecies, hm?”

The Hero did not have a quick death, nor a heroic one.

-

The plane of existence he found himself in was strange. It was all white, dotted with black blots that shimmered. It was as if he was staring into a reverse night sky, where the stars were black holes and space was an infinite expanse of snow.

Three figures circled him on all sides, cloaked in gold and divine light. They formed an almost triangle, trapping him in their enclosure, yet keeping a lengthy distance away. Despite the distance, it wasn’t hard to determine who They were. The creators of the Triforce Themselves: Din, Farore, and Nayru.

“Chosen hero...”

He glanced to his right. In all Her righteous divinity stood Hylia, the goddess of time and mother to Hylians. She was swathed in a golden light, Her hair swaying as She sashayed towards him, Her snowy dress fluttering.

He stood up straighter. He probably ought to bow, but being raised in the forest, he hadn’t been taught much about the Goddesses. He’d only been taught to respect them, and how to pray to them, but not much else. When you’re supposed to never to grow up, and die many centuries old, then religion isn’t much of a deal. Especially not the afterlife portion.

She towers over him, Her height dwarfing him almost ridiculously. It is at that moment the Hero realised he is back to his true form; he is nine years old again. He could cry tears of relief at that. He hated being older; he was too tall, too clunky, and too unbalanced. Most of all... it simply wasn’t him.

Hylia stands barely three feet away, Her eyes trained on his. She watched him for a moment, as if waiting for him to do something, or maybe She was judging him. It was impossible to tell, but he certainly wasn’t going to make the first move. Not when he understood very little about what was going on.

“My child,” She begins, and Her voice sounded strange. There were unspoken emotions dripping from those two words, and the Hero was certain sadness was among the wave of feelings. “My dear child, I must apologize.”

He doesn’t understand what She means. He signs as much, confused.

“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” She continues. “And I am the one who wrote it out. I’m terribly sorry for all that occurred. You are but a child, and it was foolish of us to thrust such an impossible task upon you. This burden was unjust.”

He is still slightly confused, but he does not interject. She had more to say.

“Your sacrifices were great in your quest. You have lost many friends, your entire home. And you were told that you would be able to get them back, and I am sorry that it won’t happen. I’m sorry that you had to loose.”

He feels tears threatening to spill, but he refuses to let them. He did enough crying while he was alive; he’d cried in front of his enemy, he showed weakness just before his death. He can not let Her think any less of him than She likely did already.

“You are a child, and I’m sorry that you had to die.” She sighs. “Fate is cruel and unjust. Time is unforgiving... alas, you know this to be true already.

“You were meant to fail, my child.” He stared up into Her gold, gold eyes. “That was your true purpose. You were promised victory, that as a Hero, you would certainly slay the corrupted beast. I’m sorry that we lied to you. I’m sorry that the prophecy was far from spilling truth.

“You has to die, for others to live. It’s confusing, and you won’t understand, not now, and not for a while. But I need you to trust me, my child. I need you to trust that you died for the right reasons. If you hadn’t, then the next incarnations of the Hero could not be created. This timeline would be inconceivably wrecked by your success.”

She bent down, Her dress billowing as She tucked Her knees. Her hair flowed to the ground, spilling onto the gentle white surface, looking like a curtain drawing closed over Her face. Despite the hair, he could still see Her piercing gold eyes.

For a moment, familiarity struck through his very being. The Goddess before him reminded him of a friend. Zelda.

She reached out to touch his face, Her hands cupping his cheeks. Her touch felt like being held by warm sunbeams, like bathing in a shower of sunlight on a simple summer day. He could practically feel the grass beneath his feet, could hear the twinkle of notes as Saria played her song on the ocarina, the flowers in his hands as he tried to make a flower crown like he had watched Mido do not long before.

His heart ached. He wouldn’t ever be able to do that again.

“I’m so sorry,” She whispered. Her words were tinged with grief, he realized. Grief, deep seated and aching to Her very soul. Her eyes were filled with molten gold, and he watched as fat tears of gold traveled down Her cheek. She was crying, the Hero realized. “But you were born to die.”

The dam bursted.

_Link_ sobbed. He bawled and shuddered with the force of his sobs. Tears spilled down his plump cheeks, dripping to the ground in salty puddles. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, his head dipping down as sobs racked his entire frame. 

Everything began to truly, truly click. He was dead. He could not go back and fix his mistake. He could not undo the seven years of damage left in his absence. He could not see Zelda, or Malon, or Saria, or the rest of the sages. He would not meet them again, he would not play with them in the Lost Forest, he would never hear Saria’s sweet ocarina, because he had failed.

And that had been his destiny.

He had been born to fail. His success was only granted by the Goddesses to lead up to this very moment, and when he had began his final battle, They snatched victory away from him. He didn’t understand why. He couldn’t understand why they couldn’t let him win.

Did the people of Hyrule mean nothing to Her anymore? Was She abandoning them, allowing them to be slayed by the hands of the beast She was supposed to keep in line? Did the power of the Triforce need not Her protection because She didn’t care anymore?

Why did he have to die?

He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Her hands found his cheeks again, wiping his tears with gentle thumbs, and Her forehead touched his. They sat like that for quite some time, as Link desperately tried to come to grips with his mortality, with his mistake, with his failures.

“I don’t understand,” he finally signs, desperate to know, to learn _why_. 

“I know,” She whispered. “And you will learn why. Someday.”

She wiped away the last of his tears. He tried to steady his breathing, tried to stop his blubbering, because he wasn’t a child. He was a hero-

Could he call himself that when he had failed?

Link stopped his sobs, but pitiful whines still managed to escape his mangled voice box. “I want to go home.”

She shook Her head, leaning away from him. Her gaze focused solely on him, tears still streaming down Her cheeks, like beams of sunlight. “I’m sorry, my child.”

They remained in silence for some time, the only sound was Link’s mangled hiccups echoing in the strange realm. Her hands were still on his cheeks, and he leaned into them as much as he could. It was the closest thing to a motherly touch he would ever receive.

The Goddess sighed. “I’m afraid you can not stay here.”

Link paused. “Why?” A common question.

“I’m afraid I can not let you into the afterlife.”

Everything within Link shattered. It was as if his soul was a mirror, broken into pieces, now cursed with years of bad luck.

“You can not rest, yet.” She ran Her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. He was frozen under Her gaze, his mind reeling at the realisation. His knowledge of religion was laughable, but even he understood the concept of heaven and eternal rest in the afterlife. “I’m afraid your job isn’t quite done yet.”

Tears bubbled in the corner of his eye again. He had died. Wasn’t he entitled to some rest?

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, again. “But you must return to Hyrule as a spirit. Your job is guide your future incarnations, and to keep watch over the Master Sword.”

Tears spilled yet again, this time soundless.

“It is your duty to watch over the Sword, and make certain it falls into the right hand. You must keep watch.” She sighs. “We both saw how it went this time, without a guard. So please, watch over it. Watch over your incarnations, guide them towards their destiny.”

It felt like a cruel joke, truly. Guide them to their destiny? When his had lead to his demise, when his lead to the ruin of his home and the suffering of his people? Allow his incarnations... himself?... to fall under the same path he had taken?

Allow them to fail as he had?

She gives him a watery smile. “Do not fret. Their futures are much... more fruitful than yours. Many of them will live good lives.”

He does not believe Her.

Or does he not believe in Her?

She holds out a pinky for him. He knows what this means, because Saria would make him do it every time they snuck out at night, stole cookies from the local bakers, pulled pranks on their friends, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t tattle... “Promise me?”

Link sniffles. He does not want to. He knows that he is condemning himself, even if he does not realise the full extent. He knows that he will be trapped in an existance between the living and the dead. He remembers the ghost stories his friends would tell around the campfire. He would be just like that, except with no one to tell his story.

He latched his pinky around Her’s.

His fate was truly, truly sealed.

She gave him a sad, sad smile. She looked almost as miserable as he felt, almost as heartbroken as he was. “I hope you understand why I ask this of you.”

He does, but he also doesn’t. He is to keep his peers from failing as he did. He is to keep the Master Sword away from the wrong hands, to protect the Temple of Time. His duty is to ensure that things will not go as awry as they had before.

He does not understand why it must be him.

Still, he nods, because that is what is expected of him. He is tired of living up to expectations; of living up to being the Hero, an adult, a warrior. He is tired.

But he can not rest.

Hylia kisses the back of his hand. He notices that gilded tears are still streaking down Her cheeks. She is still soundlessly crying.

“Thank you, Hero.”

He does not do this for Her. He does not even do this for himself. He will do this for the next Link, for the next Hyrule, for the next Zelda. He will do this for the next Saria, the next Nabooru, Ruto, Darunia, Impa...

“Thank you, Link.”

-

“Must we curse him further?”

Farore’s eyes furrow. “His destiny isn’t finished yet. I chose him because I knew he could carry it through. It is his fate.”

“As if we hadn’t over ruled his true fate. He was supposed to win.”

“A new timeline has sprung forth, and it is imperative to keep it intact. There are timelines beyond us where he successes. As the Goddess of Time, you know this.”

“Yes... but in this one, we have cursed him.”

-

He is a restless spirit. 

He can not help it. 

He is full of regret, of fear, of anger. He’s not sure what those emotions are directed to. His predicament? The Goddesses? Himself?

Still. It was a duty he had promised to keep, if not for his friends, then for his Hyrule.

Everything has changed. Ganon, despite taking Link’s triforce and gaining ultimately more power, was still sealed away by the Seven Sages. An era of peace befell the kingdom, but he knew it wasn’t to last.

The Master Sword continued to move about, again and again, as a secure location was always on the hunt. As of now, it rested idly in the Lost Woods, awaiting a new master. Link sat on its handle, watching the scenery before him.

Grass crunched, and his ears twitched. His eyes searched for the sound, before falling upon a familiar green tunic.

A young man stood before him, blond hair and deep, deep blue eyes. He stared at the sword, and Link knew exactly who this was, and what he was feeling, and what he was meant to do.

He guided the hero closer and closer, and pushed his hands onto the handle. The New Hero could not see him, could not feel him, but that was alright. Link was a relic of the past. All he had to do was make sure the Hero succeeded.

But he knew what awaited this young man (and his heart leapt with joy with the knowledge that this wasn’t another nine year old. Hylia learned to choose heroes at much older ages. He had to be sixteen at least). It would not be easy, and it would not end well, no matter how happy of an ending he would receive.

Because Hylia had lied when She said that they would live good lives. 

The future was not promising. She may deceive all She likes, but he knows. He does not need wisdom, courage, or power to see the truth.

He watched the young man slowly lift the blade. The metal gleams in the light of the early day, looking brand new. And the New Hero is in awe at it, pulling as hard and fast as he can to release its power.

He pulls it out, and holds it high above his head. There is an excited smile on his face, and he lets out a cheer as he swings it out, testing the power of the blade. 

Link clicks his tongue, a sadness filling his soul. “You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> ocarina of time makes me so sad.
> 
> so! the fallen hero timeline is literally so depressing! because this means link was very likely killed! a fucking nine year old!!!! FUCK.
> 
> okay okay. so at the end, i was envisioning link basically became the hero’s shade, like in twilight princess. a restless spirit, full of different regrets, but hopeful that his mistake wouldn’t repeat.
> 
> title from twenty one pilots hometown. that blurryface album gives me big loz oot vibes and im not sure why.


End file.
